Foster’s Porn Story: Gravity 101 – Chapter 1

A/N: Yep, I’ve swallowed my pride and posted something here. This is just a sillyfic (I’ve been brushing up on my fanfiction terminology) about pre-Foster’s Mac and Bloo, because I love them so.

Mac had created Bloo, so he was always surprised when he found something out about him that he didn’t know before. And, even more surprisingly, this was quite often. And most surprisingly of all, the reason it happened so frequently was because Bloo was the complete opposite of him in almost every way (but they got along all the same, which was another surprising thing). Mac assumed something that came from his own imagination would be just what he had bargained for, but his surprise was the same every time something happened that proved how wrong he was. The one thing he could conclude from all this was that Bloo was full of surprises.

For instance, usually Bloo had a horribly short attention span (another trait Mac had never had any intention of giving him). But when he latched onto an idea, he was like a Rottweiler on a leg. Its jaws, that is. His tenacity was unrivaled.

Currently, the consequences for this newly-discovered quirk involved sitting on one of the branches of a tree, as they had been for the past twenty minutes, with their limbs falling asleep from being scrunched together in such a tiny space.

Bloo’s objective, naturally, was to fly. Not even the most concrete, scientific evidence could convince him that there was any reason they should not be able to “soar into the stratosphere and stick it to those birds. Look at those birds, being all smug because they’re flying and we’re sitting here in this stupid tree.” He cited their flowing capes as a guarantee that they would be sailing majestically about the sky in no time. The bemusement Mac felt that Bloo had the capacity to be so fixedly determined was somewhat overshadowed by his exasperation at the fact that Bloo refused to believe that it wasn’t going to work. It would be endearing, but it also involved them getting their heads knocked around like football players. He could feel his brain cells abandoning ship and leaping out of his ears. He had to admit, though, that no matter how much brainpower he exhausted just trying to think on whatever level of consciousness Bloo’s mind worked at, he was the best person to get one’s head knocked around with.

Previous efforts to soar into the air, from Mac’s mother’s bed, had failed. This didn’t discourage Bloo, who said that that was okay because they would have hit their heads on the ceiling anyway. He wasn’t sure exactly why it hadn’t worked that time, or any of the times before that, but he was certain they’d have better luck outside where there was more air and more room.

And after these unsuccessful ventures, he reminded his companion of his philosophy: “Well, Mac, you know what we do when we don’t get it right the first time?”

“Go inside and get ice packs?” the boy responded a bit wearily.

“No, we try again. Elementary, my dear Mac.”

And so, the idea came to him that they should jump from the tree in the park by Mac’s house. This, he reasoned, would result in them flying. And there they sat. Every time Mac sighed or glared at his friend or made a remark about how long they had been out there and how long they would remain out there, Bloo was quick to testily inform him that they were waiting for the right amount of wind.

But eventually Mac had gotten tired of being patient.

“Bloo! We can’t fly! It hasn’t worked, and it’s never going to work, unless we have a ton of balloons or a helicopter!” he had shouted in frustration.

Bloo had tut-tutted and replied, “I find your lack of faith disturbing, but we should try the balloon idea sometime,” and that vein of the conversation had ended there.

The sun was setting now, and Bloo had made it clear that he wouldn’t even consider trying again tomorrow until it was pitch black out and they were both starving to death. Inquiries as to what would happen when Mom got home were met with certainty that any anger she may have would evaporate as soon as she realized they could now do loop-the-loops anywhere in their apartment.

Mac sighed and decided to direct the conversation away from the logistics of flying. “Nice sunset,” he remarked.

“I don’t get the big deal with sunsets. I mean, they’re there every day. You can see our house from here, though.”

“Our house is there every day.”

“Touch,” he conceded. It hadn’t taken Mac long to realize that Bloo was fascinated by things that most people never thought about, yet things that were widely regarded as some of the most beautiful sights life had to offer stood no chance of holding his interest. He was right — sunsets weren’t mind-blowing or anything — but the complete irreverence he had for pretty much everything could be a little disarming. Most people at least pretended to like sunsets, for the sake of appearances, but Bloo didn’t pretend anything. He thought sunsets were boring, and he thought reading was boring, and he thought long walks on the beach in the moonlight were boring, and he thought everyone should know.

At that moment a breeze ruffled the leaves on the tree, and Bloo jumped up excitedly and grabbed Mac’s arm. He bared dramatically into the wind blowing in their direction, his towel-cape majestically fanning out behind him.

“Mac, are you ready?!” he shouted.

“What? What?”

“The moment of truth is here! It’s do or die now!”

Before Mac could even reflect on how appropriate Bloo’s choice of words was, seeing as in this case doing could result in dying, or at least concussions, he felt himself being pulled by the arm from their perch on the branch. In one split second the ground rushed up to meet them very quickly, as their painstakingly-drawn diagram took its sweet time falling. And in another split second, they lay in the grass, in a tangled, bruised pile, with the last remnants of sunlight glaring in their eyes.

For a moment the two friends just looked up at the sky in silence and waited for it to stop spinning. Then: